


Commencement

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Caretaking, Established Relationship, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, happy every after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: One quiet day out of many, in their life happily ever after. (Featuring food photography and a walk to the beach.)For Iro's prompt "I would just like a fic that lets Prompto be happy with the guys. Noctis isn't dead and they all live a happy life! And possibly add that Prompto realizes that an MTs body isn't meant to last or live long, but finds a way to be able to survive and live a longer life!"
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89
Collections: Quarantine FFXV Exchange 2020





	Commencement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justicesrequiem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justicesrequiem/gifts).



> The playlist for this is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRzef2XzKSy6b3tBLQD7BHMGluhe9P3FQ
> 
> Written for Quarantine FFXV Exchange 2020.

Prompto took a bite and then another from the dish Ignis had set before him. "This is – " he waved his fork, trying to summon the right words "– fantastic. Delectable. Delectatastic? You've outdone yourself."

"It's not all that," Ignis said, but he looked pleased. He'd been experimenting with recipes for the hardy greens that were a staple in Niflheim, and had had some truly vile mistakes along the way – the plants were bitter, and released a viscous slime if cooked too long. But the food science department of the newly-reopened Accordo University said they were a miracle food, full of vitamins and minerals and fiber and who knew what else, so Ignis kept trying.

For the first few years after the dawn, food rationing had continued while agriculture was reestablished. Fields that had been fallow for a decade were slow to produce good yields, and hunting had to be carefully regulated so that animal populations didn't become endangered. After the long dark, all of them – except Noct – had open minds about eating things that were basically weeds, but damn if Ignis didn't make them tasty.

He put in the effort for Noct, in part: Ignis said shoddy meals would be a poor reward for saving the world, and insisted that Noct needed good nutrition to recover from the damage of the last battle.

But Prompto knew, in a way that made him squirmy with far too many emotions, that Ignis had taken up cooking again because of him – or rather, because Prompto's cloned body was increasingly buggy, and Ignis said he loved him far too much to let his father kill him posthumously. Every plate nudged across the table was seasoned with that defiance.

Being the focus of attention like that sometimes felt like staring into the sun, so Prompto was developing an arsenal of deflections, for every imaginable occasion.

"Oooh, look at Mr Modesty over here," Prompto said, reaching out to give Ignis' ass a squeeze. He guessed they must be over the honeymoon stage, because Ignis didn't startle at the touch the way he used to, and he didn't push Prompto's hand away in embarrassment at his own reaction (he liked it, and that was fine, good, great; he could own that, Prompto didn't judge). After all these years, Prompto had finally worn him down. He tugged Ignis closer and gave him a full-on arms-around-the-waist hug as a reward for being the best Ignis possible.

Ignis patted his head, asking what brought this on. When he realized Prompto hadn't put product in his hair, he ran his fingers through it, which to he honest was one of the reasons Prompto was styling his hair less these days. Ignis had said once that he'd liked looking at Prompto's hair, so Prompto encouraged him to touch it whenever he wanted.

"It's a good day." Prompto shrugged against Ignis' hip.

He didn't want to have to explain, but that wasn't a worry with Ignis. "Yes," he said, fingers rubbing behind his ear like he was a cat. "They all are, aren't they?"

He sounded smug about that. The long years of darkness had been terrible, but they'd had their mission. Ignis had broken down as they were making their way out of Niflheim, back to Lestallum without Noct. He'd admitted that he'd seen a vision of the future in which Noct died to save the world, and had sounded defeated. Even worse than he had when he'd found out he was blind.

 _Fuck that_ , Gladio had said. _The gods will have to go through us first._

They'd trained and studied, rallied allies and pried secrets out of remote dungeons and ruins. Gladio had made them all go to the Proving Ground and force the spirits of the ancients to cough up some actual ancient assistance. And the plan they'd come up with had worked, which was great. Long live the King. Prompto hadn't been sure Ignis would have let Noct face his death alone – the scars on his face were testament to how far he'd go, after all – so he was glad his tenacity didn't get tested. They all had sexy new scars after the final battle, but Ignis was right to be proud of what they'd accomplished, and to savor every day.

"Think we have time to fool around before the others get back?" Prompto asked.

Ignis hummed, as if thinking it over, but then said, "You'll lose the lighting, I'm afraid."

Prompto groaned, sliding his hand up under Ignis' shirt for just a bit of quick groping. "I love you but I hate you."

"However will I survive?" Ignis asked dryly.

Even though he knew Ignis was teasing – even though Prompto had started it – he still needed to push to his feet to kiss Ignis, a superstitious need for reassurance. Ignis indulged him, using the hand he had in Prompto's hair to hold him in place while he deepened the kiss.

And then he stepped back, adjusted his clothes with brisk businesslike tugs, and asked Prompto to plate the food while he went outside to set the table. Ages ago, when they'd started their roadtrip, Prompto had taken pictures of every meal Ignis made, joking that someday Ignis would appreciate it when he wrote a cookbook of his life's work. The pictures had been subterfuge, Prompto's way of getting close to Ignis without outright flirting, and it'd taken weeks for him to realize that Ignis giving him permission – and cooking his favorite meals – was his equally-awkward way of saying he wouldn't mind if Prompto got closer.

So food photography had brought them together, and now the university press really did want Ignis to publish his recipes, which he tried to be modest about but Prompto knew he was pleased. His cooking kept the people he loved alive, after all. The least he could do to reward Ignis for all his hard work was to make the greens in the bowl look mouthwateringly delicious.

He got a full set of pictures from different angles, including one of Ignis looking irritated at being asked to pose holding the bowl. That one was for Prompto's private collection.

He was tempted to take more pictures, because everything was radiant in the crystal-clear light of the early summer sun. Gladio's kitchen garden was looking lush, and the bushes along the front edge of the yard had exploded into huge pink flowers that hummed with nice, normal-sized honeybees. But Ignis reminded him of the time, so they tidied up and then grabbed their things and headed for the beach.

Their house stood at the top of the hill, with all the rest of the sprawling town visible below. Across the strait, the ruins of Insomnia rose. It hurt less to see now, because progress toward a recovery of sorts was visible: boats and trucks trundled back and forth, carrying supplies, and the annual tree-planting campaigns meant that the city was livened by green belts. Noct said he doubted Insomnia would be reinhabited in their lifetimes, but this temporary seat of government on the shores of the mainland was a good place to live. Clean and safe for families, connected by road and rail with Lestallum, and close to excellent fishing.

Noct and Gladio had taken the boat out for the day to go catch the other half of their evening meal, and Prompto figured they had time to get an hour of swimming in before they got back. He was trying to cut back on running these days, because his defective clone joints were getting arthritic, but it was also easier-slash-safer for Ignis to swim with him. A win-win situation: Ignis didn't have to listen to Prompto's knee bones grinding together, and Prompto didn't have to watch the man he loved twist an ankle falling on uneven ground.

The dock and pier were off to the north, but they headed to the crescent of sun-warmed sand, spreading out their towels and then stripping down to swimming trunks. Prompto took Ignis' hand and pulled him into the water. It always felt shockingly cold at first, but once he was in up to his waist his body adjusted.

"Race you," he said, giving Ignis' hand a squeeze and then letting go. "On three, two, _go_ – "

And Ignis was gone, sliding into the water like he was part fish himself. He never splashed, and no matter how many times Prompto begged him to show how he did it, he couldn't figure it out. (He secretly suspected that Ignis used his splashing to orient himself in the water, Prompto's enthusiastic flailing acting as a homing beacon that kept him from going too deep or too far.)

They did laps after Prompto lost the race (as always), and then a ridiculous game of Founder King where they ended up just making blind grabs for each other. Prompto laughed too hard to reply _King_ when Ignis called _Founder_ , so that was another game he didn't win. Except the prize Ignis collected was a kiss, which Prompto hardly objected to, and a not-entirely-altruistic grope under the guise of making sure Prompto wasn't catching a chill.

"A chilled ass?" Prompto asked, grinning. "Is that, like, an actual medical condition?"

"Indeed," Ignis said, taking Prompto's hand and tugging him toward the shore. "I wouldn't want you turning into an _ass_ cube, after all."

Prompto splashed him for that, and said he was terrible, and Ignis pointed out mildly that Prompto loved it.

"That's not the point," Prompto argued, even though he supposed it was. "Oh, hey, the boat's coming back." He twisted sideways and pointed with Ignis' finger, so he could see, too. "You want to walk down and help them unload?"

"I'm sure it's nothing Gladio can't handle," Ignis said in blithe dismissal of the idea. He ran his free hand up Prompto's arm, where every freckle was developing its own goosebump. "Let's get you warmed up first."

"I suppose I'll let you towel me off," Prompto said. He wrapped his arm around Ignis' waist as they slogged through the breaking waves and up onto the sand. "Cheap thrills are better than no thrills, right?"

"There's nothing as precious as that which comes free," Ignis said absently. His brain was full of weird sayings like that, and Prompto had long since learned to just accept the occasional outbursts of motivational aphorisms. This one was more romantic than most of the others, and Prompto didn't know how to reply, so he just gave Ignis' fingers a squeeze, which was returned. "Is this where we left our belongings?"

"A bit more left, and up three meters," Prompto said. The nervous part of him felt the urge to deflect, to ask what kinds of fish Ignis thought Gladio and Noct had caught and how he'd cook them, or blurt out inanities about how nice the weather was. He knew Ignis would understand if he retreated, because sometimes things got too much for him, too.

Once, when Prompto's whining about his health-necessitated dietary restrictions actually pissed Ignis off, he'd given him a narrow-eyed glare and said, "Don't think there aren't times I'd still cheerfully commit murder for a cup of coffee."

Prompto had been startled into loud, helpless laughter, grabbing Ignis and trying to calm his ire while gasping for breath. He'd finally been able to wheeze out, "You're a simple man, you don't want much, but when you do – damn."

"Well," Ignis said, still a bit huffy but relenting under Prompto's half-hug half-headlock. "I assumed you knew that."

"One of the things I love best about you," Prompto assured him. "If I can't have cake, can I at least have kisses?"

"I suppose." He'd said it with a sigh, like it was a hardship, but he kissed like he was terrified. Ignis was so good at being calm and competent that sometimes even Prompto forgot just how deep his need to keep the people he loved safe ran – even though Ignis wore the scars of it all over his face. It was humbling to think that after Noct, who was Ignis' king and first best friend, Prompto was the person he was most scared of losing.

With sand between his toes, now, and the late afternoon sun warm on his skin, Prompto breathed in the tang of sea-salt on the air and leaned his head against Ignis' shoulder, just because he could. "I didn't think we'd actually get to have this," he admitted. "I like it. Ten out of ten, would live happily ever after again."

"Only ten?" Ignis said in mock affront. Prompto pulled him to a stop, orienting him to their towels. He made Ignis sit down first and knelt behind him so he could rub his hair mostly dry. He had a flask of fresh water and a face towel, and over Ignis' weak protests that he could do it himself, carefully washed the salt water out of his eyes and cleaned the scars. He didn't have to, he pointed out. He _wanted_ to.

"Gladio and Noct are heading this way," he added. "Carrying the cooler box between them, which is working about as well as you'd expect. You should be able to hear Noct complaining in a minute."

Ignis roused himself with a blink, as if he'd been dozing off, and was suddenly the picture of efficiency, rubbing Prompto down and handing him his clothes, while dressing himself. Prompto found it both funny and endearing: after all these years in close quarters, they'd all seen each other naked and worse so many times that it wasn't like Gladio of all people would have the vapors over shirtlessness. And while Ignis was reserved, he'd been the one to tell Noct when he and Prompto got together. He wasn't ashamed. But sometimes, Ignis associated physical nakedness with emotional nakedness, like he had to button down his feelings literally.

Prompto let him do that as they rolled the towels back into the bag and kicked on their beach sandals, ugly but practical). But as they started off across the sand to where Noct was calling _I can see you, you know_ and _my arm is falling off, help_ , he linked his arm through Ignis' companionably and said, "Love you," like it was no biggie, just a fact as simple as the sun rising every day in the east.


End file.
